


City of Leftbehinds

by liamneeson



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Friends With Benefits, blank period fic, implied future Korrasami, that time between book 3 and book 4 lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamneeson/pseuds/liamneeson
Summary: Mako painted a mental picture of the scene they made at the moment: Asami with a still wet face mask on, thumbing through a thick binder of promotional material for her new products, and him sitting on the bed beside hers, his own tome of police reports on his lap.He thought: it could work out like this. He could come home to Asami and her failed dinners and delightful laughter and soothing ease, every day. It was just the two of them now, and it wasn’t such a bad thing that they sought comfort in each other.





	City of Leftbehinds

**Author's Note:**

> emo hours always for masami. this was something i always wanted to write but you know. life. shrugemoji. belated happy korrasami day to everyone!

Mako wasn't born a philosopher. He thought, when one spent their formative years on the street, there was little space to contemplate the deeper complexities of life. There was food to put on the figurative table, and a baby brother to rear. There were odd, dangerous jobs to take, and a whole city to survive against.

In so, it took financial stability and the luxury of breathing room to ponder where his place was in the world. He was 21 this year, and it was probably long due, that existential crisis.

Lately, he thought a lot about karma and the precarious balance of life. Surely, being friends with the Avatar and seeing her almost lose her life brought on this train of thought, for Mako never actively lost himself in such mentality. He was a man of action, for the most part, and avoided overthinking with an almost rabid fervor. But since that whole debacle with the Red Lotus and Korra almost dying, well, it was kind of unavoidable for him to put _his_ life in perspective.

In one of Jinora's books, he read that Karma was the push and pull of the universe. Every action had an apposite consequence, and sometimes, one could feel the repercussions to be unjust.

Not Mako, though. In everything that went down lately, he thought he had it all coming. With Korra gone, the purpose she instilled in everyone went with her. It was what prompted a fickle Bolin to enlist in Kuvira's whacked up little fascist party.

Mako supposed he deserved to lose his brother like that. He'd always been quick to disregard Bolin, as was habit when they were still kids on the streets. Bolin always had fantastical ideas that would have frankly gotten them killed if Mako never nipped it at the bud. The practicality of it became a dangerous proclivity that caused a rift between the brothers. Bolin liked to remind him that they weren't starving, homeless runts anymore, and therefore, Mako didn't have to try so hard to keep him safe from dreaming big. But old habits were slow to die, and Mako kept catching himself trying to cup a stifling hand around his brother's shining light.

"You sure about this, bro?" Mako asked, just about the hundredth, possibly thousandth time. He hefted Bolin's rucksack on to his other arm and watched his brother take steps towards Varrick's slick-looking train with a face-splitting grin as if he wasn't making such an irrational decision.

"If I had a yuan for every time you asked that, I'd be about as rich as Asami. Probably." Bolin showed Mako a smile that thawed hearts of Movers fans. "Relax, big bro. For once in my life, I know what I'm doing."

 _No, you really don't. You never do._ Bolin was mistake after innocent mistake and Mako was sick of watching. His heart clenched, but he had to accept that Bolin was of the age to make his bed and lie in it. Saying nothing about his trepidation, Mako handed Bolin his bag. "If you're sure, then."

"I am. You gotta trust me on this one."

Mako nodded. He put a hand on Bolin's shoulder and felt, not for the first time, that he was stepping into shoes too big for him. "You can come home any time. I'm always here for you, bro."

Bolin drew him into a breath-stealing hug. Then, it was time to board. Mako stood on the platform with the other left-behinds, trying not to blame himself for how things came to be. 

* * *

Asami's bed was big, homed in a grand, antique four poster frame, direct contrast to the twin bed in a sparse box frame that Mako kept in his apartment. Life with Asami was constantly adjusting to juxtaposition. Sleeping on her bed always made Mako feel small, like he was about to drown in downy fabrics and goose-feather stuffed pillows; like things outside the four posts didn't exist until the sun shone.

The seven AM alarm they both agreed on rang shrill into the dreary morning. Mako rolled away from where the heat gathered in the middle of the bed and set about to do a more toned down version of his morning routine. Asami's suite was bigger than his entire home. It took close to fifty paces to get out of her shower and to the double sinks, whereas he only had to swivel and sidestep to navigate his own cramped bathroom. Mako brushed his teeth and styled his hair back. His guest toothbrush was the only thing he had among her isle of vanity products; even the gel and the toothpaste and the bath products he used were hers. His place here was temporary, he knew. He didn’t need toiletries to remind him of that.

With a towel slung around his waist, he re-entered the bedroom to find Asami still asleep. She was always so slow to wake up, forever clinging to dreams where things were still so stupidly simple. Mako went to her first, and shook her shoulder gently.

"Hey, Asami. You need to get up." He remembered her talking about an early morning meeting, or something. He could never get her hectic schedule straight. "It's almost eight."

She blinked bleary eyes open, and that was good enough for Mako. He walked to the stylish end table in front of her room, where the servants who took his uniform last night had it meticulously washed and pressed for him already. This _thing_ had been going on for a while that it stopped feeling weird for him to have a houseful of servants knowing that he stayed nights in their lady's bed and left in last night's clothes.

Mako did the last button of his shirt and set out to quietly depart before any of his family could wake up and catch him doing the walk of shame. He'd managed to avoid that, so far.

Before he could slip out the doors, Asami called to him. In a robe that didn't hide much, she approached him slowly, truly as if the world didn't wait for them outside.

"Thanks for waking me," she said.

Mako nodded. "You should get ready. You're gonna be late and I don’t want to have to give you a ticket if I catch you speeding to Future Industries Tower."

Asami smiled instead of answering. She was always so devastatingly beautiful that it disarmed him during mornings like this when the sun shone on her bare face and he felt his softest. She stepped into his space and ran her hands through his hair, making a nest out of it.

"You look so stiff with your hair slicked back, detective. I quite hate it."

He laughed shortly, taking her arms down before she could do much damage. "Come on, I look sharp. You must be used to it by now."

"I still don't like it," she insisted. "I have to look harder to find you under that new hair and uniform."

He knew what she meant. Things were changing and they were struggling to hold on to what was left of the past. She wore her hair differently as well, he could remind her. She wore new clothes and did new things and walked on eggshells even when they were tangled up together in her sheets. "I have to go. Chief will blow one if she finds out I'm late again." He fixed his hair back into place and tried not to watch her watch him do so.

"See you when I see you." Asami yawned, turning away from him.

"Sure."

He left when she made for the bathroom. It was just his luck that he stepped out of Asami's room the same time Tu's stomach called him out of his for an early snack.

"Well, well," Tu sang. His grin deepened when Mako scowled. "You _are_ rolling Miss Sato. Meng Shen told me, but I didn't believe her."

"I'll appreciate you minding your own business." Mako started down the corridor, and felt his irritation climb when Tu matched his pace.

"Don't worry, Mister Heartbreaker, I'll keep it to myself. It's just nice to know you're happy, that's all."

 _Happy. Right._ Mako nodded curtly at Tu before diverging to the grand entrance where the butler handed him the keys to his police mobile. 

* * *

Cops and CEOs did not have forgiving schedules. It was all about long hours, rushed lunch breaks if any at all, too much to do, too little time, and a lot of bringing work home. They long ago stopped trying to make their schedule work for activities that required the whole day. Once, they drew plans to visit Korra in the South Pole, but it immediately seemed foolish to think that the Chief would give him a few days or that Asami's company would run out of problems for her. They'd stayed in the city and compensated by eating in the noodle shop Korra and Bolin loved to frequent.

Mako wasn't surprised to not be woken by a shrill alarm since he had the intention of sleeping in on his day off, but he _was_ surprised to find Asami still asleep in Bolin’s bed (Try as they might, there was no way any of them would be getting sleep cramped together on his own twin bed). It was probably half past noon by now.

"Asami," Mako called out as he shook her, a body wrapped twice over in thin, scratchy sheets. Asami shook his hand off and grumbled.

"I get one day a week to have a real sleep, Mako. Take your hand off me if you want to keep it."

That had him laughing. Asami never learned the grace of waking up. "I'll make lunch."

"Have fun. Don't wake me until dinner."

Mako got up, rubbing the sleep off his face. "When do we actually have a day off together? Come on. We should go training. I bet you haven't had a good session in a while."

Asami only groaned. He left her to convincing herself out of bed. It rained outside, which intensified the siren call of the sheets. Mako soldiered on, pulling pans and food out of cabinets, just enough to make a quick stir fry.

Much later, after the food had gone cold and Mako was settled with the sports section of the paper, Asami finally emerged from his room, all wrinkled bed clothes and sleep-pinched face. She took her bowl from the table and joined him on the couch.

"About training..." 

* * *

The Sato mansion had its own gym, equipped with state of the art machinery that put the ones in the police station to shame. Today, the equipment was ignored in lieu of good old finger wraps and minimal protective gear.

Asami, stripped to a sports bra and drawstring pants, told Mako to come at her with all he had. Bold choice of words for someone who'd been confined to an office chair for months now. He told her as much and got tossed on his back on the mat for it.

"If this is the threshold of your performance, then I should have stayed in bed." Asami stood over him, smug and brimming with energy he hadn't felt from her in a while.

They stopped talking much, after that. Things with Asami got quiet so easily. Mako never used to notice when they were first dating, because back then, she had opened up his world to extravagant places and they did extravagant things in the way teenagers with funds and time would. Before Korra left to recover, Asami and Mako never had to spend time alone together. There was always an adventure to do, and people between them to fill the space. But there were no smart quips from Korra now, or failed attempts at humor from Bolin. There was often a dawn of running out of things to say, and he and Asami were still trying to grow past that. They could be shoulder to shoulder on her bed, but he would feel miles between them.

There were still lots of days when Mako found himself resenting how empty Asami was. Sometimes, she functioned so robotically, coldly, that it made him long for the days when she embraced how angry and hurt she was. It was better than this soulless routine that she felt she had to do to protect herself from betrayal. Spirits knew how Mako seesawed through emotions (guilt for sleeping with one of his best friends; indignant because _she was using him, too_ ), so it irked him a hell lot how Asami could keep doing what she was doing and not dwell on it as much as he did. 

Mako didn’t like mulling over how he ended up back in bed with Asami after all this time. It wasn’t like back then when he had the excuse of of a relationship. Now, it was just empty lust, fucking for convenience, because the left behinds needed to come, too. It was probably stupid. _Probably. Surely._ It would probably ruin some aspect of their relationship in the near future. It would probably make this weirdly sweet but shallow friendship crumble on it foundations. But in the way of youth they could still say _fuck it_ and jump into this vitriolic cesspool of mistakes and get their jollies off it.

Sweat matted the forehair onto the sides of her face, her neck. Asami glowed with a thin sheen of perspiration and all the radiance of weary youth carrying too much on her shoulders. For what seemed like the longest time, Mako and Asami danced through the motions of mock combat, foregoing speech and sentiment. He thought, _maybe you should ask her what's on her mind._ She always had that look of quiet longing when she wanted to say something but decided to keep it to herself, and she wore that expression now.

But Mako was not the type to ask. Sure, he thrived off having someone to fix. Sure, he was a problem-solver, but mostly through physical means. If there was someone causing trouble, it was nothing a sharp blade of flames in front of their face could solve. Asami's inner tumult seemed to be of the more abstract kind, therefore rendering Mako's usefulness by half in its nature.

He dodged a jab of her fist and side stepped enough to Asami's periphery so that he could strike the side of her ribs with a swift arc of his leg. He comforted himself with the fact that if Asami wanted to talk, he had always indicated that he was there to listen. 

* * *

He was exhausted from work. These days, there was more paperwork than field work and Mako could say he felt more fatigued after a desk ride than he did patrolling a riot downtown. He could feel himself growing complacent, could feel the tiredness weighing down his bones and making him slow. He tried to think back to the last time he left the precinct to the sight of daylight but couldn't exactly tell. A long time ago, for sure. Now, there was only ever time to amble back home, wash his uniform, scarf down a quick dinner, and then fall into a dead sleep.

 _Not yet,_ he urged himself. Bearing a plastic bag of takeout, he entered Future Industries, a towering beauty with some thirty stories, at the very top of which currently housed Asami. Mako nodded at the guards before taking the lift to the presidential suite.

Visiting Asami after work, especially when he knew she'd just had a long day like this, felt like an obligation to combat his atrophied sense of purpose. Like him, Asami was still so young and hadn't quite grasped what it meant to go easy on herself. She had a lot to prove, Mako knew, and didn't begrudge her efforts to do so. On some level, he understood enough to stop griping about how she was a glutton for punishment because of her father's sins.

Since Bolin left, there was no one to absorb Mako's nurturing nature. He'd long ago acknowledged that he needed to pour his devotion into someone to feel validated. It wasn't a crime to need to take care of people.

"It's past eleven, you know," was the greeting he chose as he entered Asami's office. It was a grand old thing, just like everything she owned. Antiques and other expensive, bizarre gifts from suitors and business folk decorated the room. Mako knew that a the art had been few of the things that Asami allowed to remain from when her father still presided where she did now. The cot that was built into a concealing cabinet, she got rid of long ago, lest she risk the temptation to sleep where she worked. She didn't want to be like the man before her, who forgot to go home to the family waiting for him.

Hunched over a stack of papers, Asami startled at the intrusion. She straightened her back and shoved the no-nonsense ponytail off her shoulder. A quick glance at the tall grandfather clock confirmed what Mako said. "I don't intentionally lose track of time."

Mako set the food down right on top of her work. "I know you haven't eaten yet."

When Asami smiled at him, he lost himself in how beautiful she was. Disarming, right? Even with the beginning of shadows under her eyes, and the grease on her jumpsuit, the sight of her still chased his heart to a gallop.

"You're perfect, you know that?" She cooed as she took boxed of takeout from the bag. Mako knew she preferred earth Nation food so it was what he bought.

His lips twitched when she cheered over her favorite dumplings. "Mako, I owe you my life."

They punctuated bites with anecdotes from their week. Mako regaled the dusty hellhole that was his activity dry spell, and he gathered from her that she had jsut executed the plans for the modernization of the railroads, a secret until President Raiko was ready to strategically release a statement to the press.

"Consider these your congratulatory dumplings, then. We have to go out for drinks to celebrate properly, next time," he said, truly happy that her work was moving in a more positive direction after that mess with the triads, the almost bankruptcy, Varrick, and the other failures only a young executive was bound to make.

"Thanks, Mako. I just wish-- I wonder, if Korra would approve."

It was a sentiment he could relate to. Korra had changed both of their lives dramatically, shifting their priorities into something greater than themselves. He, too, often wondered how the Avatar would find the change he tried to strive for. "I'm sure she'll be proud of you, Asami."

Asami blinked rapidly before her eyes got too glossy. Was it exhaustion that made her eyes sting, or the longing she felt for their friend? "Sorry, I really have to finish this tonight. Raiko wants this on his desk tomorrow. You can go ahead if you want to."

"I'll wait." There was a perfectly good sofa in front of her desk he could nap in while Asami worked. He toed off his boots and tucked his arm under his neck, feeling fatigue catch up to him quick.

When he woke, only the dim corner lights lent the office a gentle illumination. There was a fleece blanket draped around him and a pillow under his head. On the floor beside him, Asami slept, wrapped in her own blanket, clearly so burned out, she lay on the cool, hard tiles.

* * *

Mako came home to the smell of something burning.

When he opened the door to his apartment, the pungent smell of burnt food was so thick, it felt like the smoke was trying to force itself up his nostrils. He heard a window sliding open, followed by rough coughs. Asami. What on Earth?

“Mako, hi! Just in time.” The smoke cleared and he found Asami, a sheepish grin on her face and a pan of what looked to be coal in her hands. “My factory manager gave me a recipe for Orange Chicken, and, well...”

“I guess it didn't work out?” Mako supplied.

Asami laughed. “That’s putting it lightly. I relinquish all cooking responsibilities back to you. I’m only good for paying you back on takeout, now. Would you be a dear and call that place with the good orange chicken and the chicken feet? I really have to wash this smell out of my hair.”

Mako toed his shoes off and opened more windows in the living room. “What made you decide that you could cook after all these years of having servants cater to your meals?”

“Don’t be smart,” Asami called out from the bathroom. The tap was already running. “I just thought I’d surprise you, is all. My governess used to say that no proper lady didn’t know how to do simple house work.”

“And yet you don't know how to cook, you ruined my only good shirt when you tried to wash it, and you cried that one time I asked you to take out the trash."

"Hey! Your garbage bag was punctured and it leaked foul liquid on my suede boots."

"Probably because you don't segregate the trash like you should. I think the most you should be doing in a kitchen unsupervised is washing the dishes, Asami.” He dialed the familiar number of his favorite street grub that he somehow got Miss CEO hooked on. “Especially in my very flammable house.”

Asami called out an apology tinged with laughter from in the shower. Mako was grinning when he ordered their dinner.

It was days like this that made Mako feel like they were the only two people left in the world. Dinner was shortly devoured as soon as Asami came out of the shower in a big bathrobe she had purchased for him with a thread count of which Mako would consider too obscene to even think to use on the regular. They ate in relative silence, their earlier jesting gone, replaced by a peace that was so truly them. There were no dishes to be washed, so he and Asami got to turn in for bed earlier than usual. Mako painted a mental picture of the scene they made at the moment: Asami with a still wet face mask on, thumbing through a thick binder of promotional material for her new products, and him sitting on the bed beside hers, his own tome of police reports on his lap.

He thought: it could work out like this. He could come home to Asami and her failed dinners and delightful laughter and soothing ease, every day. It was just the two of them now, and it wasn’t such a bad thing that they sought comfort in each other.

Sure, they didn’t tell each other I love you. He imagined that if she did, he might leave her because those words scared him in the way only clarity ever could. It was always at the tail end of a dying conversation, but somehow swallowed down when sobriety took over. Did it make him a jerk to be relieved that things were so undefined between them? That they only took shallowly from each other, and that they were both cowards?

Spirits knew that he and Asami have tried and tried again to make a relationship happen, but it seemed that the more they tried to make sense of blurred lines, the more things fell out of perspective. They have been torn apart by fate’s cruel hands, but they always found their way back to each other. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily romantic; they always got together when it was practical, when they were both bleeding, when they were both coming apart at the seams, when there was no one else to turn to. This vagueness worked for them, and he was sorry it took so much time to stop forcing the more conventional route to happen. They were just two lonely souls seeking solace in one another. There couldn’t be anything wrong with that, right?

* * *

One afternoon, Asami got a letter.

It was not a very odd occurrence, but usually,she received her mail at her office. Having it sent here meant it was personal, and Mako could count on one hand the number of people Asami knew strictly personally.

“Your mail, Miss Sato,” said the butler, handing over the white envelope before ducking out of the dining room. Mako’s interest was piqued when Asami frowned.

“From Hiroshi?” he asked. Asami had told him about the letters steadily making a stack in a cabinet. Mako couldn’t see a prison stamp or any other telling postage marking on the envelope; in fact, it was blank aside from the quick sprawl of Asami’s name.

She simply shrugged as she tore at the side of the envelope. Mako tried not to read over her shoulder, even when she gasped, and her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as she read the first few lines. Quickly, she rose from her seat, the papers pressed to her chest.

“Excuse me for a bit,” she said in a clipped tone before beating a hasty retreat.

Mako didn’t see her again for another two hours.

The butler told Mako that Asami was still in the study and asked not to be disturbed. Curious, but trusting that Asami would tell him if she was in trouble, Mako left it alone. He wouldn’t pry. Meaningless sex didn’t give him the privilege to stick his nose into her personal business unless she asked him to.

With the rest of his night blessedly free, he treated himself to a long bath in Asami’s decadent tub and was surprised to find an hour later that she still hadn’t emerged from the home office. It was getting harder and harder to convince himself to respect her space.

Promising himself that he would break down the door if she hadn’t come out after his pre-dinner nap, Mako fell into an easy sleep.

* * *

She woke him when she climbed into bed with him, which wasn't all that surprising given their affinity for fucking when they wanted to stave catharsis. He could still see the tear tracks on her cheeks. Asami's robe was carelessly thrown to the foot of the bed, quickly followed by the clothes Mako wore to sleep. She kissed him ,bruising, biting, and she pushed him down on the bed by the shoulders in a brusque fashion. He must have liked it, though. He was already stirring in his pants.

To retaliate- because he felt mean when she was mean- he reared up to lave his lips on her neck before sinking his teeth into a spot that he knew would bloom bruises.

The way Asami rode him was tasteless. The pleasure was forced and the tension, high. Ragged pants filled the air and if Mako paid enough attention, he could hear the way hours of crying had made her throat raw.

When they finished, the aftermath was something Mako could map out as easily as he could the city they both loved: awkwardness so palpable  he could hack through it with a knife, the nervous energy, the inability to look as they put their clothes back on. The shame.

Robed again, Asami laid in bed parallel to Mako, near enough that he could still hear her breathing, but far enough that they weren't touching.

 _What's wrong_ , he almost asked. It felt like such a belated question at this point. But Asami spoke before he could get the words out between them.

"Korra's coming back to Republic City."

Mako felt like an invisible fist lodged itself in his throat. "When?" He managed to ask.

"In a few months. maybe three." Asami waited a beat, a painful, pregnant beat. "We can't do this anymore."

Mako snorted. It was easy to be scathing when he was hurting. "Obviously."

"Don't be rude. Please? We're still friends."

She sounded like she might cry again. Mako was thawed all at once. "Yeah, Asami," he confirmed, gently. He pressed both heels of his hands to his eyes. This was such a fucking mess, but he was determined not to let it get to him. "I'm gonna sleep in the apartment from now on. This doesn't have to be weird."

Asami looked like she wanted to protest just to be gracious. "Okay."

Mako sat up. Asami mirrored. He gave her a half hug that she returned in full. "See you when I see you."

"Make sure of it," Asami made him promise.

He gave her a quick kiss where her hairline and forehead met, friendlier than anything.

Asami smiled at him when he slipped out of her bed. 

* * *

They met again three months later, when Asami and the President finally unveiled the project she'd been hell-bent on finishing in time for Korra to come home.

When Mako approached Asami, his arms were crossed, and his smile was polite.

  


**Author's Note:**

> im @M1RAJANE on twitter


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